


Clasped Hands

by MoonlightShines (Thatkillervibe)



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alice trying her best and sometimes failing, Angst and Fluff, Anxiety, Boy Meets World references, Canon Compliant, F/M, Healing, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post episode 10, Protective Jughead Jones, Self-Harm, bughead - Freeform, romantic walks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 10:27:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkillervibe/pseuds/MoonlightShines
Summary: “You brought me to a park?” Asks Betty, her blue eyes lighting up with delight. She lets go of Jughead’s hand to run to the twosome swingset. He follows her, slipping his now cold hands into his pockets and kicking at the sand on the pathway that leads up to it. She’s already pushing her legs to get the swing going when he sits down beside her. The rusted metal seat screeches pathetically with every one of Jughead’s stiff movements, and Betty laughs at the grimace he makes.“Betts, I’ve been thinking.”“Yeah?” She calls, high up now, her voice lifting into the air and Jughead has to reprimand himself from getting distracted by how pretty it sounds.“Our lives suck.”





	Clasped Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when Riverdale was still airing, so it's canon compliant, and set in between season 1 episodes 10 and 11.

Alice Cooper opened the door to her daughter’s bedroom and walked in briskly.

“Elizabeth,” she said, making her turn from her workstation. “What have I said about studying in dim light?” She gave the hanging chain of her white lamp a sharp tug. “I’m going grocery shopping. I’ll be back in an hour, do you want anything?”

Betty tapped her pencil against her graph paper and huffed out a small sigh. Her mother would ask this every time she went out and always brought back something pointedly different from what she asked. When Betty was fourteen, she asked for a chocolate bar. Her mother rolled her eyes and brought back an apple instead.

“No thanks mom,” Betty said, watching as her mother straightened a tilted book in her bookshelf on her way out.

She returned to her calculus and finished up the last few questions. When she was done, she stood up to gather her books, ready to pack her school bag. She shifted her weight to her side, and her calculator slid off her textbook and fell to the floor, a thunk that clattered and echoed until there was no noise at all. She bent down to pick it up when she noticed.

It was quiet in the house. Chillingly, deafeningly quiet.

No Polly. No dad. Not even her mother.

As Betty knelt against her wooden floor, she could imagine what it would be like if nobody was there, something she always daydreamed about when she was little, when she wanted everyone to shut up and go away so she could breathe for a moment without her parents’ suffocating presence and her sister’s perfect shine. Where she could be herself, Betty Cooper, with no expectations.

But it was all wrong.

She could imagine it because nobody was there. The house was empty. Betty was alone. She _hated_ it. She unclenched her fist that was gripped around the calculator and stared at her other hand, her fingertips stained with red.

In the bathroom, the tap ran cold against her skin, and she scrubbed hard, wincing at the stinging of her palms. She lifts her head up to the mirror, looks at the girl and tells her _You need to stop this. Please Stop._ Betty stares at her reflection, the girl in front of her is crying, and Betty doesn’t want to see her anymore. She reaches out and switches off the light and continues to wash her trembling hands in the dark.

She doesn't dry them. She returns to her room and frowns. For the first time since Cheryl was over, she can truly see what she was getting at with her jab at the interior design. She doesn't like the bubblegum pinkness of it all anymore. It's sickeningly sweet. _Too_ sweet. It makes her nauseous.

She would have gone to bed and slept through the rest of the night if she wasn't interrupted by the ping! Coming from her phone that she left on her desk.

*Juggie*: _Can I come over?_

Betty contemplates telling him no. As much as it pains her, she does want to sleep early, but she doesn’t know if she could even get herself to anymore. Her room is suddenly terribly claustrophobic, and she wants him. There's never been a time when Jughead’s thoughtful words haven't soothed her, and it's better than fretting alone.

_Yes :)_

She wiped her face with her sleeve, and doesn’t bother with fixing it. She’s never had to dress up for him. She remembers all the careful time she’d spend in front of her vanity preparing for the hope that Archie would see her when she’d purposefully leave her blinds open and thinks she must have been an idiot. This is so much nicer. 

It’s not three minutes later that she’s greeting him outside, and he’s wrapping her up in his arms in a hug. She held him tightly, and he squeezed back with affection. With her head on his chest, she could hear the rhythm of his heart, something she didn’t know she needed so badly. She closed her eyes with a hum and let herself drift away with it.

Jughead grazed her cheek with his thumb, his eyes full of concern. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and his shoulders relaxed. 

“I was thinking we could take a walk?” He suggested, stepping inside to quickly grab her peacoat. “Where’s your mom?”    
  
Betty lets Jughead put on the coat for her and grabs his hand with hers. “Shopping,” She said, “So where are we going?”   
  
Jughead smirked, “What? Two people can’t roam the streets anymore? Must we all have a final destination?”   
  
Betty shakes his arm and rolls her eyes. “Juggie, not when there’s a killer on the loose”.    
  
“Fair point.”    
  
They don't talk much. They don't have to. Their wavelengths vibrate at the same frequency, they're comfortable together. Have been for years. It's one of the best things for her, already knowing him. The way he knows her too. She's not afraid when he's holding her hand, and that feels so good. Because who would want to hold her hands after knowing what she does to them? How ugly they are? But he doesn't care. His thumb brushes her knuckles with little thought to it as they walk down the lamp posted sidewalk and her heart clenches. Then she thinks, maybe that's wrong. Perhaps there's a lot of thought to it. Maybe he wants her to feel his hands on her own and pushes his palm into hers against the scarred skin to say _ Hey, I know. Don't be afraid. You're not alone. Let me be here. Hold my hand. _ She only hopes he can feel all of the love she squeezes back.    
  
Jughead lied. They were going somewhere. 

“You brought me to a park?” Asks Betty, her blue eyes lighting up with delight. She lets go of Jughead’s hand to run to the twosome swingset. He follows her, slipping his now cold hands into his pockets and kicking at the sand on the pathway that leads up to it. She’s already pushing her legs to get the swing going when he sits down beside her. The rusted metal seat screeches pathetically with every one of Jughead’s stiff movements, and Betty laughs at the grimace he makes. 

“Betts, I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?” She calls, high up now, her voice lifting into the air and Jughead has to reprimand himself from getting distracted by how pretty it sounds.    
  
“Our lives suck.”   
  
She comes to a grinding stop; her shoes jutted into the wood chips underneath them so quickly that a few came spraying up and Jughead has to close his eyes to avoid dust. Betty whips her head around to give him this look. She tugs on her coat sleeves to cover her palms and grips the chains too hard.    
  
“Don't say that.”    
  
Jughead puts a hand on her shoulder. 

“That came out wrong. What I meant was...We’re kids Betts. I just turned 17. And it's not the age of innocence or anything, but there's this longing for a childhood I still have under all of the rage and sarcasm. I miss it. Don't you? The simple days when we were just two kids who shared mutual exasperation over Archie’s obsession with kissing girls in the Riverdale Elementary courtyard?”   
  
Betty’s lips curled upwards into an amused smile.    
  
“So yes, I brought us to a park, the universal symbol of youth. I just want to forget all the crap we have for a moment. Is that okay?”   
  
He’s saying one thing, but he means another. It's in his touch, in his eyes that lie what he truly wishes.  _ You don't have to be perfect for me, Betty I know you're not okay, but we don't have to talk about it if you don't. I want to help you feel better. Can I?  _ Betty has never been more thankful.    
  
“I’d like that,” she smiled, then reaches up to tighten her ponytail.

“Race me to the top of the jungle gym?” She flies out of her seat before Jughead is even capable of processing her words.    
  
It feels amazing to run when nobody's watching. The breeze hits her face, it’s cold and makes her hair fly into her mouth, but she couldn't care less. She’s climbing the metal ladder steps two at a time when a solid warmth presses up against her. Jughead pries her off the ladder to bypass her, laughing at her protests.    
  
“Jug!” She exclaimed, trying to sound admonishing and failing miserably, she's laughing too hard. “Oh my god, That's cheating!”    
  
“All’s fair in love and war,” he quips from the top, his hands splayed against the paint chipped railing. 

Betty forces herself not to blush at that. It was just a quote, Jughead was saying, she knew that. He would say things like that all the time. Betty wouldn’t let herself hope for anything more. But oh god, she’s  _ hoping _ .  

“What? The playground is a battlefield now?” She says amused, slapping his helping hand away.    
  
She climbs the jungle gym ladder until she is eye level with Jughead and she pauses for a second. His eyes are lit up, and he smiles in a way she's not used to.    
  
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks. She looks down at herself self-consciously, wrapping her arms around her torso as she sits where Jughead was patting her a seat.    
  
“Like what?” He frowned.   
  
_ Like I’m perfect. _

But she doesn't want to ruin the night with her problems, so she pushes those thoughts down and lets the question hang in the air awkwardly. Looking down at the teeter totters and aluminium slide, it’s all much smaller than she remembered it being as a child. Jughead scoots to sit behind her, wrapping his hands around her waist as their limbs dangle off the ledge of the metal grate. She leans into him, and he runs his arm up and down her coat sleeve.

It's so comfortable, so quiet. Nothing like the suffocating silence at home. This was a peaceful quiet, the kind that reminds Betty of being tucked into bed at night as a child, the feeling of being taken care of. She's safe with Jughead. _So_ safe.

He’s humming softly in her ear, and she feels entranced by it. Her eyelids droop, and she yawns accidentally. 

“I’m tired,” she admits sheepishly, letting out a satisfying sigh when he rests his head on her shoulder. 

“Me too, most of the time. You wake me up though. Maybe you possess magic, and that's why I’m inconceivably foolishly smitten with you.” He mused.    
  
“You have the same effect on me, it's not magic.”    
  
He gave her bicep a short squeeze.   
  
“Then what is it?”    
  
“It’s just you, Juggie. Your heart. Your mind.”    
  
His hands let go of her coat and instead plays with stray strands of her hair, tucking them behind her ear, then on impulse, removing her hair tie. He runs his hands through her hair and begins to separate them into sections to braid.    
  
“Since when were you a hairdresser?” She teased, arching her back at the fuzzy feeling his gentle hands in her hair gave her.    
  
“Since I realized I couldn't get away with sticking a beanie on my sister's hair every day,” he replied.   
  
Betty knew that Jellybean was a sensitive topic for her boyfriend. The relationship he had with her was complicated. He loved her, surely, but thinking about her also made him angry. 

She remembered middle school when Jughead stopped showing up to the fifth and sixth period when they had their classes together, and Betty had the convoluted idea that it was because he was sick. Sick of  _ her _ .  After two months of this Betty asked Archie and he replied, “ _ Don't you know, Betty? Jug skips school now to babysit Jellybean. _ ”  She was beyond ashamed and embarrassed at herself. All she could say was “ _ Oh _ .”    
  
He tugged at the braid when it was done, snapping her out of her thoughts. Betty twisted back to cup his neck and kissed his smile away soundly. It was a better kiss than what he deserved for his task, but Jughead wasn't complaining. When she pulled back, Jughead had that dazed look he always sported after she had her way with him, his face tinged pinker than the wind would make. It was Betty’s favourite.    
  
“This is very Boy Meets World,” Jughead comments when the silence became thick with something more than just contentment.    
  
“That makes you Topanga,” Betty points out, and he couldn't disagree. 

“God looks down and protects all the tiny little people, Betty.” Jughead recites with a wry smile.    
  
But his quote didn't make her laugh.  She pushes Jughead gently to the side, gathering her knees to her chest, muttering something jaded under her breath. 

“What?” Jughead said, unable to catch her words.

“Doesn't feel like he's protecting me,” Betty said again, only a little louder.    
  
His smile falls off his face, and if the concern on his face was evident before, it was unmistakable now. “What do you mean?”   
  
“I don't like being alone Jug, I feel alone. Forgotten. Isn't that so selfish? I have all these amazing friends, and I have _you_ , and still, I feel like I'm on my own.”   
  
“That's not selfish, Betty.”    
  
Betty felt her eyes begin to sting with the threat of tears. She uncurled her fists clenched against the sleeve of her coat and stared at her palm visibly red from the recent scarring and very ugly. 

“But this is,” she whispered, as she placed her hands facing up in his. Jughead peers over her shoulder.   
  
“I’m helpless, Jug.”    
  
“No,” Jughead said firmly, closing her hands in his, “That's not true.”    
  
The flutter of Betty’s heart at that surprised her.    
  
“You have to believe that. Please, Betts.”    
  
Jughead's vehemence about her ability to get better was shocking. He fights for her more than she fights for herself.   
  
She shrugged slightly.   
  
" _Betty_ .”   
  
She loves him. She realized it a few days ago. She loves him but it doesn't seem to change anything. Was it supposed to? When has love ever made anything better? Polly loved Jason, and now he's dead. Jughead loved his father, and it only brought him heartache. Love can’t save her.

“We’ll get you help. Your family can get you the help you need. You can tell Polly or your mom--”   
  
“My mom?” Betty scoffed, tears pooling in her bright eyes. “My mom sent Polly to a nunnery _prison_ when she found out she was pregnant. If she found out how damaged I am…That I faked being _‘Perfect Betty Cooper’,_ ” Betty laughed scornfully.    
  
Jughead stared at her, pained.     
  
“And Polly? Why would I put that amount of stress on her? That’s cruel, Jughead! I’m not that important.”

“Yes you are. You have to try.”

“I am trying.”   
  
He doesn't answer her right away. Instead, he placed a warm hand against her back, then reached for her hands again and kissed them.

“Betty Cooper, you’re the strongest person I know.”

The air was cool now, but the shiver that ran through her back were from his words, not the cold.

_ I love you I love you I love you,  _ her heart sang. 

Maybe his love wasn’t meant to save her.

“When does your mom get back?”

Or hers for him. 

Betty glanced at her watch, “Soon,” she replied. 

Instead, led to a push.

“C’mon," he said, standing up and pulling her with him, hands still clasped together, "I’ll walk you back.”

To find her own.

~.~

When Jughead dropped her off at her front porch, just as she was about to kiss him goodnight, her mother swung open the door and said, “Oh! There you are, Betty, your hair looks nice. Hello, Jughead, would you like a snack? I just came from the grocery.” 

She smiled, sheepishly, grateful to see her mom and the light streaming out from inside and didn’t feel so alone anymore. She tugged him across the welcome mat and into her home.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Betty digs her fingers into her palm in a moment of fear & talks about feeling helpless. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Just a quick note: This fic aimed not to romanticize love as a cure for mental illness or personal problems, but an encouragement, a source of strength, and a place for refuge. Jughead will not and can not fix Betty's anxiety, but realizing that she is cared for, loved (not just by him, but her family, her friends), it's a step in the right direction, and it goes a long way.


End file.
